


A Light in the Darkness

by opalmatrix



Category: Fall of Ile-Rien - Martha Wells
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008, recipient:Dawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To their sorrow, Tremaine and Ilias find that prejudices die harder than gratitude. Fortunately, help is on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Light in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DawningStar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawningStar/gifts).



> Thanks to my wonderful beta readers - [redbrunja](http://redbrunja.livejournal.com/) and my sister A. Thanks also to the people who have been helping me improved my writing this year, especially in the Saiyuki Time Livejournal community. Thanks as well to author Martha Wells, who writes wonderful books: more people should give them a try! Finally, thank you, Dear Recipient, for giving me the chance to write this story. I hope it's what you had in mind!

**I** lias had just stowed Tremaine's repaired boots in his satchel when he spotted Giliead's cousin Kias walking past the cobbler's shop. Ilias hadn't seen him for at least a month. "Kias! Wait up --"

Kias stopped and waited, but he didn't greet Ilias with his usual cocky grin. In fact, he had shadows under his eyes and looked to have lost a stone or two in weight. _I bet I could actually take him down in a wrestling match now ... ._ Usually Kias seemed to be just as big and strong as Ilias' foster brother, and despite his broken nose, his looks were good enough and his manners engaging enough that he was a huge favorite with the girls of Cineth.

"Ilias," said Kias, listlessly. His hair was lank and dirty-looking, and he smelled of the docks.

 _ **Not** like Kias._ Ilias stopped dead, not even tempted to give him the usual backslap. "What's wrong?"

Kias looked at him blankly, then set his jaw and turned away without speaking. Ilias stared after him as he walked away.

_What was that all about?_

He'd have to ask Tremaine if she'd heard of any bad news in that branch of the family.

The next stop was the paper maker. Tremaine had decided that she needed to record her own impressions of the war with the Gardier before she forgot any more of them. Salia was meticulous and fussy, and she insisted on wrapped the paper carefully in two layers of protective material. While she was neatly weaving a net and carrying handle of string around the package, Ilias heard voices outside the shop.

"... well, she's worse. In fact, Fyanor's started to worry for her life. She's not recognizing anyone much but Ferias."

"Oh, Hani! What terrible news! Well, you know, even though the war is over, they say there's still sorcery drifting about. They say the cursed ones attract it ... ."

Ilias ground his teeth and deliberately shut his ears. _Stupid old hens ... ._

Was that why Kias hadn't wanted to talk to him? Back before the war, he'd been as bad as anyone else in town about what had happened to Ilias at Ixion's hands.

He realized Salia was staring at him. Dimly, he remembered hearing her ask whether he needed anything else. He got out his most charming smile for her. "No, that's all she wanted. Thanks so much."

He waited until he got outside to put the package into the satchel with the boots, so Salia wouldn't be scandalized by his treatment of her masterwork. The gossips were no longer right outside the shop. _Probably those two across the way, at the confectioner's._ His guess was confirmed when one of them noticed him and nudged her companion with an elbow. They both glanced at him and then quickly away, as though the curse mark on his cheek was contagious even at this distance. He favored them with the same smile he'd given Salia and felt sourly amused as they glanced at each other, horrified. Then he started home.

He decided _not_ to tell Tremaine about Kias.

All around him, the houses showed new stonework and fresh paint where the damage caused by Gardier curse weapons had been repaired. Every third woman of child-bearing age seemed to be pregnant, and sometimes he passed a man or a woman with healed-over burns gained in the war. People were decorating the town for the Solstice Festival, and beyond the town walls, the fields glowed with the tender green of the young crops. Everything was beautiful and fresh and new.

So why were people still believing the same ugly, stupid old stories?

* * *

**"I** should have gone with Giliead," said Ilias.

Tremaine had been reaching for more berries but the tone of his voice made her forget all about them. "Did something happen in town today?"

"Ferias - his wife Nisaia is worse. They're saying she could die of ... whatever it is."

Tremaine stared at him a moment. "Well .... that's sad," she said, slowly. The trouble was, Nisaia was certainly not a friend, and her husband Ferias, in fact, had a long-standing feud with Ilias' adoptive clan. So why was Ilias being so moody about this?

He was staring at his plate, but not as though he was seeing it. Finally: "And people are starting to believe what he's saying. That those who were cursed can still bring this kind of misfortune. You remember, you said Dyani had heard something like that last week."

Tremaine snorted inelegantly. "Everyone knows Ferias is a blowhard. Who is crazy enough to listen to him?"

"More people than you'd think. I don't think I should go into town tomorrow."

"If you don't attend the festival, people will talk even more."

Now that she was really paying attention, Tremaine realized that he'd hardly eaten any of his dinner, even though Terian's cooking was as good as ever. This stupid gossip in town, along with Giliead's absence, was really starting to wear on him.

"Ilias --"

She wasn't sure what she had been going to say -- this sort of thing wasn't her strong suit -- but suddenly they both heard someone calling her name from the outer door of the house. A moment later, Terian appeared in the courtyard. "It's Calit -- he's got a visitor for you. He says the fellow wandered through their gate earlier today and asked after you."

 _That's all I need -- unexpected company._ Ilias, momentarily distracted, raised an eyebrow at her. He looked much more like himself. Maybe a visitor wasn't such a bad thing, then. She sighed. "Thanks, Terian. Tell them to come in."

Calit bounded in like a long-limbed puppy. He'd been growing again, and looked proud and pleased, as though happy to be on an official mission. "Tremaine, Illias: it's --"

"Me," said a saturnine voice behind him.

* * *

**S** omehow, Ilias was only a little surprised at his father-in-law's sudden appearance. That was just how it was with Nicholas: there was no point at all in expecting or not expecting anything in particular.

Tremaine, on the other hand, was sputtering almost incoherently. "You! How -- ?"

Nicholas seated himself on one of the empty cushions around the low wooden table. "I believe it was the god of Cineth. Or at least, that's the only thing that makes any sense. I had been curious about how you were getting on. But of course, it was impossible to find out, so I went about my business -- which has been quite good lately, in fact. I was paying a visit to Lodun. I must have been thinking of you as I walked through the area of influence of one of the former circles, because I abruptly found myself elsewhere. It's taken me a number of days walking to get here. It's a good thing I was wearing reasonable boots, and not fashionable shoes. One of your Aelin friends recognized me on the road, fortunately."

"Of course you're going to stay with us," said Ilias. Family was family, even if some of his now came from a world where everyone thought curses were a normal way to get things done.

Tremaine was rubbing her temples as though they hurt. Her eyes were closed. "Nicholas ... this isn't a particularly good time for us to deal with unexpected visitors."

Ilias squeezed her forearm, then looked at Nicholas for a moment. Nicholas raised his eyebrows, clearly curious as to what she meant. "Tremaine -- he's good at solving problems. "

Tremaine's eyes opened so she could peer at her father. She groaned. "We don't need anyone mysteriously dying at the Solstice Day festival!"

"I can usually manage quite well without killing anybody at all," said Nicholas, quite reasonably. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

Tremaine looked stubborn for a moment, then sighed. "Calit," she said, firmly. "Go talk to Terian. Have him bring my father a plate and cup. You stay in the kitchen and have a snack."

The Aelin boy looked stubborn. Clearly he wanted to stay and hear what was going on. But when all three adults stared at him, pointedly, he turned and left, looking sulky.

"He seems to be adjusting well," commented Nicholas. "And judging by the appearance of their household, so are the rest of the Aelin."

"Yes," said Ilias. "They're quite sharp. They've learned all our ways already, and no one can out-bargain them. I think half the people in Cineth have forgotten where they came from."

"Then they can all damn well forget a few other things!" said Tremaine, hotly. Ilias sighed, and rubbed his thumb over the curse mark on his cheek. "It's harder to forget something that they can see all the time. The Aelin look no different than anyone, these days."

"I thought you were going to tell me what was happening," Nicholas reminded them.

Tremaine gave him stubborn look, rather like Calit. "I don't remember agreeing to anything of the sort, but I guess we might as well," she said, crossly. "Well. Even after all the Rienish and the Syprians did together to defeat the Gardier, and even though everyone is supposed to know that sorcerors can be either good or evil, some idiots are still stupid about people with curse marks. And now there's a woman in Cineth who's ill -- Nisaia, Ferias' wife. She and I don't get along, but it's not just me -- she's been arguing with Karima for years. And her husband Ferias is from a family that's been feuding with Andrien for ages. He was one of the main opponents against the alliance between the Syprians and the Rienish. Anyway, now she's very ill, she could die, and somehow people have decided that it has something to do with Ilias."

Terian came in with a fresh cup and platter for Nicholas, and a basket with more bread. He recognized Tremaine's father after a moment and grinned. "Will your father be staying here?"

"Oh, why not?" said Tremaine, unenthusiastically. Terian didn't even blink; he was used to her moods by now. "I'll set up the east room," he said, pleasantly, and left them to their privacy.

"He works for you?" asked Nicholas, helping himself to broiled fish and spring greens.

"Yes," answered Ilias.

"You trust him."

Tremaine rolled her eyes. "Yes, we trust him. But if you're worried, you can hurry and finish your dinner, then wait half an hour. He lives down the hill. Syprians hire services, not people. Terian will leave once he's finished cleaning up in the kitchen. Or, for that matter, your Syprian is still bad enough that no one will think it's odd if you speak Rienish to us."

Nicholas ignored this. "Where does Giliead live?"

"Oh, he stays with us as often as he stays with our mother, when he's in town," said Ilias. "But he's off on business -- someone two days' journey away reported something that sounded an awful lot like sorcery."

"Don't you usually go with him on such trips?"

"Yes," Ilias replied, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "But he took Danias with him this time. He said I was married now, and Tremaine couldn't be expected to have me disappear all the time. He's training Danias to work with him instead."

"I thought it must be something like that," said Nicholas, quietly. "I couldn't imagine that rumors like that would get very far if your foster brother were around. Hasn't this woman been examined by some sort of healer?"

"Yes. He's got no idea what's happening with her. But medicine isn't very elaborate around here." Tremaine was shredding her last bit of bread crust into a pile of crumbs.

"Some people think Fyanor is the best healer in the Syrnai," Ilias told him. "But others say he's nothing but a bonesetter, and his eyesight is going."

"How long has she been ill?"

"I first heard about it three weeks ago."

"How old a woman is this?"

"I think she's around 40," said Tremaine.

"A midwife who knows about women's illnesses might be more to the point," said Nicholas, thoughtfully.

Ilias smacked one hand on the tabletop. "My mother suggested that! But because our families have this old feud, Ferias was easily able to ignore Karima's suggestion!"

Nicholas looked from one to the other. "Is that the impression you both have? That this man isn't at all interested in having other healers examine his wife, no matter how ill she gets?"

Tremaine stared back at him, surprised. "Now that you mention it -- yes. I think he is."

"Hmmm. How curious. Can you think of any reason he might wish his wife dead?"

"What? No!" Ilias sounded shocked.

But Tremaine was nodding. "I can't think of a reason, but that doesn't mean there isn't one. I just wish I was more up on the local gossip."

"It's hard for someone who's not local," agreed Nicholas. "I don't suppose there's a market day anytime soon, or something of that sort?"

Tremaine snorted and then started laughing. Ilias raised his eyebrows at her and smiled at Nicholas. "We were just discussing that, in fact."

* * *

**T** he morning of the Summer Solstice was cool, with milky white clouds filming the view toward the sea. "It should be hot later on," commented Ilias, as they rode along the road to Cineth. Nicholas was in borrowed Syprian clothing, bark-brown-trousers with a deep red pattern twining around the cuffs, a dark plum-colored shirt, and a belt of Ilias'. He has insisted on wearing his own boots. Tremaine and Ilias wore their own best clothes, lovingly selected and mostly made by Karima, although Dyani had designed and printed the colorful patterns across the shoulders of Ilias' shirt. As they reached the main road, other members of the Ilias' adoptive Andrien clan joined them, as well as the Aelin who had been displaced during the war with the Gardier and settled nearby. It was impossible to talk about serious matters, and among so many friendly faces, Tremaine didn't even want to try.

As they reached Cineth, however, not all the faces were friendly. Some of the people they encountered turned abruptly away as they spotted Ilias, and Tremaine could see that Nicholas was on the alert, every sense focused on people's reactions to his son-in-law. "Can you point out the sick woman's house?" he murmured to Tremaine, as they handed off their horses to the ostlers who were tending the animals during the festival. She shrugged and nodded to Ilias. "It's two streets that way," he answered, quietly, indicating the direction with a nod. "You'll know it from the pattern of red-striped fish below the roof, and the red shutters."

Nicholas nodded and took another look around the crowd gathering in the marketplace. "Is that woman waving to you? She looks familiar."

Tremaine followed his gaze. "That's Pasima, she was with us on the _Ravenna_ ... well, at least she's not pretending she doesn't know us."

Ilias nodded. "We'd better see what she wants."

Pasima had managed to grab a table outside a little tavern, under an awning. Tremaine could see that her cousin by marriage looked just as cross as ever. But Pasima smoothed out her frown with an almost visible effort as they came over, and spoke politely, if stiffly. "Please, Tremaine, Ilias -- sit down here, out of the sun. I have cakes, and berry _sharab_ to drink."

Tremaine was not exactly fond of Pasima, but they had been through a lot together. _And I can't ignore the fact that Pasima's offering us very public hospitality._ "Uh, thanks, Pasima." She looked back to wave Nicholas over as well, and discovered that he was gone.

Pasima didn't seem to have noticed Nicholas' disappearance -- or even that he had been there in the first place. "It's ... it's a lovely day for the festival," she said, lamely.

"Yes," Ilias agreed.

Tremaine flicked an annoyed look at him. _Why bother pretending this is normal?_ "Pasima, what do you need?"

Pasima bowed her head a moment, wrestling with her temper, then reached for the pitcher on the table and filled two wooden cups with berry juice sweetened with honey and sharpened with vinegar. As she passed them to Tremaine and Ilias, she said, softly, "I was wondering whether either of you had spoken with Kias recently."

Tremaine shook her head."I haven't talked to him in a few weeks. Why? Has he got someone pregnant or something?"

Pasima looked like she was thinking of shouting. But before she could say anything, Ilias spoke up, looking troubled. "In fact ... I saw him yesterday. He wouldn't talk to me. I thought he was just -- well, you know. Starting to believe what people were saying."

Tremaine stared at him, startled. "You didn't say anything about it!"

Pasima set down her own empty cup harder than necessary. "He's not the brightest star in the evening sky, but he's smarter than that! Listen. A couple of months ago, he was like a little boy who's infatuated with a child of the next house over: giddy, half-drunk all the time, and he blushed when any of us asked him about his latest conquest. Then he suddenly became very quiet, which is completely unlike Kias. He was trying to hide it, but he's not a fellow who is good at pretending. Finally Cletia asked him whether his sweetheart's family was having trouble scraping together the marriage price. She was just joking, hoping that he would finally tell who had captured his heart at last. He started to shout at her, and then he just turned and left the house. He never came back. We found out that he's been staying at one of the sailors' common-houses by the docks here. And he hasn't spoken with anyone in the family since then."

"Ilias, can you remember anything more about how he looked?"

Ilias thought for moment. "I guess he did look more sad than anything else. He'd lost weight -- I remember thinking I might be actually be able to take him down wrestling for once. I thought he didn't answer me because didn't want anyone see us speaking together. But maybe that wasn't it."

Tremaine squeezed his shoulder, then turned to Pasima. "How long ago did Kias come out of his love-drunk? Can you remember?"

The other woman looked pensive and ran one finger around the rim of her cup. "Just a little more less than three weeks, I think."

Tremaine exchanged a glance with Ilias. "That's about the same amount of time that Nisaia has been ill," she said.

Pasima blinked. "What in the world does _that_ have to do with it?"

* * *

**N** icholas sauntered casually past the house Ilias had described to him. Once Tremaine had identified Pasima, he had recalled that the woman was now part of Tremaine's enormous and complicated new family by marriage. It was unlikely that Pasima would invite her kinswoman to sit with her in a public tavern and air rumors about Ilias. And the streets were full of revelers of all ages -- many of whom didn't seem to know each other. It had hardly taken him five seconds to decide that this was a fine time to see what he could find out about Nisaia.

At the crossroads beyond the house was a public convenience of some sort: two women were just leaving the small stone building, water drops shining on the tips of the hair around their faces and on their hands. After they walked off, Nicholas strolled inside. There was a small fountain, spatters of water showing where the previous visitors had splashed their hot faces and probably taken a drink. Nicholas had a drink himself, using his hand -- there were no cups. Then he turned back to the doorway and watched the gateway of Ferias' and Nisaia's house for a few moments.

He was in luck. A red-faced man opened the gate from the inside a few moments later. He looked somewhat worried, but the main impression Nicholas got was of someone angry, determined, and preoccupied. _He's not sorrowful in the least._

Ferias -- Nicholas was quite sure it was him, on the basis of Ilias' description the night before -- turned back toward the entrance of the house and spoke for a moment. Leaning out from the doorway of the fountain house a bit, Nicholas could just see an elderly woman standing in the doorway. She answered Ferias and waved him off.

Nicholas waited until the man had disappeared in the direction of the marketplace. Then he walked easily along the other side of the house. Behind it was an alley, and off the alley was a little yard with a low stone wall around it, containing what looked to be a kitchen garden, with young plants in carefully tended rows. Nicholas looked around carefully for passersby, but the streets were deserted for the moment: almost everyone must be down at the festival. He vaulted the wall easily and walked calmly to the door into the house. He listened for a moment, then pushed it open slowly. It made only the smallest creaking noise. He slipped into the darkened space beyond and pushed the door shut behind him.

The kitchen was not very large. It had an open cooking hearth, a heavy wooden table, shelves along the walls full of jars and bottles, and baskets and much larger jars in two of the corners. One of the inner doorways seemed to lead to a scullery. Nicholas crept to the other door and listened. Faintly, he heard two voices, both female. Beyond the door was a much larger room, apparently the main living-place of the house. One of its other doorways, toward the front of the house, showed bright daylight: its door was propped open with a low stool. The other doorway seemed the source of the voices. Nicholas moved cautiously through the room and flattened himself against the wall on that side.

One voice was rambling, almost incoherent, but it sounded as though it were pleading and calling. "Where ... where is ... ?"

The other voice was dry and elderly, and presumably belonged to the woman Nicholas had seen in the front doorway, waving Ferias off to the festival. "There, there, dearling, don't take on so. Ferias will be back quite soon. He'll fix your dinner. Everything will be well."

"No ...," the other voice sobbed. "Not F-f-fer ... ." The rest was an incomprehensible mixture of sighs and half-heard syllables.

There was a pause, and then the other woman spoke, much more firmly. "Sweet one, you don't want anything to do with that lad. He's only out for play. Now drink this."

The faint, breathy sobs died away. Nicholas frowned. Nisaia was a married woman.

But this was the Syrnai. A woman could have more than one husband. He had wondered, when he first heard of it, how the men felt about it.

_Well. That certainly casts a different light on things, doesn't it?_

He inched his way back across the main room and into the kitchen. He was walking toward the outer door when he heard footsteps in the main room behind him. The scullery door was much closer. He slipped inside and pressed himself back against the wall with the door, hoping that the old woman wouldn't need to wash anything.

He heard her footsteps moving around the room, the faint sound of small objects being picked up and put down, and a noise of liquid pouring. Then she left again. Nicholas breathed more easily and pushed himself away from the wall -- and froze.

In the dimness of the corner opposite him, where the light from the single window didn't shine directly, was a shifting pool of little lights, surrounded by a blue mist. Nicholas realised he was looking at the god of Cineth.

Gerard and various other wizards had had some lively debates about the nature of the gods of the Syrnai, especially in light of Arisilde's revelations at the end of his life. But one thing that everyone had emphasized was that the gods were only hostile to those who were threatening the harmony and safety of their adopted communities. Nicholas had no reason to think himself in danger, but it was still not comfortable to be this close to a minor deity -- even if it was really just some sort of aetheric being. "Well, greetings, god of Cineth," he whispered.

The cloud of lights sparkled and pulled itself up taller, so that it was a rough column about Nicholas' height. A few of the sparks drifted over toward him. He did his best not to flinch as they drifted across his face. They tickled, and he fought the urge to sneeze. "Stop that. If I sneeze, someone will know I'm here. And things aren't right in this house."

He felt momentarily disoriented. For a moment, he thought he saw Tremaine's face in front of him. When his vision cleared, the spark-filled cloud was drifting out of the scullery door across the kitchen. He turned to watch it. It ended up in a corner that was filled with large, tightly woven baskets and stayed there for perhaps a minute, pouring its little lights up and down hypnotically, like a slowly moving fountain spray. Then it drifted out through one of the windows.

It was very, very quiet in the house. Nicholas walked as silently as he could toward the corner with the baskets. He could see that they weren't, in fact, pushed as far into the corner as they could have been. He moved one of them cautiously.

Standing in the corner was a small ceramic bottle with a stopper held firmly in place with a wrapping of what appeared to be waxed cord. Nicholas started to reach for it, then thought a few seconds. He took a rag that was hanging by the hearth and used it to pick up the bottle. Then he wrapped it in the cloth and tucked it carefully in the pouch attached to his belt. There was still no sound from the rest of the house, Nicholas slipped out the back door and headed for the noise of the festival.

* * *

**T** remaine watched the riotous goodwill of the celebration swirl around them while she sipped her drink in silence, unable to even begin to answer Pasima's sensible question. _There was just something about unlikely events occurring in the same area and so near to the same time._

Ilias tapped her arm. "They're about to tell the story of Anavi and her band of heroes."

Pasima looked exasperated for a moment. "Oh ... ! Well. We won't be able to hear ourselves think while that's going on anyway."

Tremaine had been looking forward to this, actually. It had been one of Ilias' favorite events as a child, and she'd wanted to see it with him. She took his hand and watched as the children in the crowd tried to hush each other while some of the adults cleared a space in the center of the marketplace. A sturdy table was brought, and a young man leapt up on it, striking an actor's pose. The shrill noise of the children reached a sharp crescendo and then died out just as suddenly as they all listened for the first words of the old tale. Some of the smaller children were clutching stylized human figures woven of grass and decorated with bright ribbons: Anavi and her companions. Ilias grinned at her, his worries forgotten for the moment. The young chanter sang a long, rising note, and Tremaine felt the same pleasurable shiver she'd always felt when the curtain rose in the theater. Soon she was deeply engrossed in the story, some bits of which sounded half-familiar, as though she'd dreamed them:

> "Then Anavi drew her keen blade --
> 
> Anavi, hero and mother of heroes:
> 
> 'We shall never join you!' Anavi cried.
> 
> 'We know full well how you've schemed and lied ... '"

"Tremaine," said a familiar voice, quite close. "Wake up."

Nicholas was kneeling by her chair, taking care not to block anyone's view of the chanter. Several people nearby looked over and frowned. Ilias looked over too, and what he saw in his father-in-law's face made his own harden. He whispered in Pasima's ear. She looked cross, then thoughtful, and gestured them to follow her.

The tavern's interior was cool and dark. Only one table was occupied, and that was near the door. Pasima led them to a table in the back corner, far away from any listeners. The taverner brought them another cup for Nicholas and then left them alone.

"So what's this about? Isn't this your father? How'd he get here?" Pasima filled Nicholas' cup, her eyes sharp with curiosity.

"Yes, this is my father, Nicholas. He says the god must have brought him to the Syrnai."

"Not only that, but your god may have showed me how it is that this woman is so ill, although I'm still not sure why," Nicholas told them. "And thank you for the drink, but I'm not going to touch anything that's going in my mouth for a bit. Tremaine, this was hidden in a corner of Ferias' kitchen."

He produced the bottle and removed the top gingerly, keeping the cloth between his fingers and the ceramic. Tremaine leaned forward cautiously; the only light was a little oil lamp on the table. She could dimly see that the little container was full of a pale powder. She sniffed lightly. It smelled of bitter almonds. She stared at Nicholas, remembering her research into poisons long ago, before she'd ever seen the Syrnai.

"I read about this in one of your books -- it's a poison. Amygdaline?"

"That's what I thought," answered Nicholas. "Ilias, Pasima -- this seems to be a poison made from fruit kernels. Is it easy to get around here? Would someone like Ferias know how to use it?"

"Sometimes farmers or merchants use poisons on rats in the grain warehouses," said Ilias, looking troubled. "I don't know what they make it from."

"Fruit kernels. Nicholas is right. We call it _teska_ ," said Pasima, grimly. "Who has been poisoning her?"

Nicholas studied their faces in the lamplight. "Quite possibly her husband," he answered. "He's here in the crowd, I believe. An old woman is caring for her, and I overheard some conversation, although Nisaia's voice was barely audible. Do you happen to know whether she was considering taking a second husband? A younger one?"

There was a breathless pause, and then Pasima slammed her fist down on the table, making the cups jump. "That ... monstrous fool! Poor Nisaia!"

"Poor Kias," answered Ilias. "Nicholas, can her life be saved?"

"Quite possibly -- she's still breathing and even talking, although she sounded delirious. We should at least have the amount of time he takes to find more of this."

"I don't want to leave it for that long," said Pasima, angrily. "Nicanor needs to know about this. You say the god was involved in helping you discover this? I wish Giliead was here."

"I think we all wish that," said Ilias, somberly.

Tremaine wrapped her arm around his waist and squeezed. Nicholas looked at them for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Let's go," he said, abruptly. "We have a woman's life to save, and a man's reputation to repair."

* * *

**A** s they left the tavern, the story of Anavi was coming to its ending, with the heroic band arriving in Cineth, to the acclaim of the townsfolk. The adults in the audience were joining the children in imitating the shouts of the populace as the chanter drew breath for the final stirring verses, The noise was deafening. Tremaine's own little band split up and started pushing their various ways through the crowd. Ilias went after Deresa, the healer-midwife his mother had recommended a week earlier. Pasima was seeking Nicanor, who was also, after all, her brother-in-law. That left Tremaine and Nicholas to distract Ferias.

He was standing at the edge of the crowd on the side of the marketplace toward his house, watching and listening to the spectacle with a distracted air. As the performance came to an end, and the crowd started to disperse toward the taverns and the stalls selling drinks and festival sweets, a couple of townsfolk stopped to ask after Nisaia. Tremaine watched as he sighed and said that she seemed no better, and that it was only what one could expect in a city with an infestation of sorcery. _He's no actor,_ she thought, sourly, but the people to whom he was speaking seemed to believe him, and shook their heads sorrowfully as they left. _Brainless bastards!_

"Hello, Ferias," she said, cordially.

He drew back as though he smelled something bad. "Tremaine," he said, shortly. It was hardly a greeting. She saw Nicholas appear behind him and felt her breathing grow steadier.

"I couldn't help overhearing ... something about an infestation?" she said, sweetly.

Ferias colored slightly. "I wasn't speaking to you."

"But I was hoping you could help me. We seem to be having some sort of pernicious problem with pests ourselves. I was wondering -- do you recommend poison bait?"

He flinched. "I'm hardly an expert. You'd better consult Galanor, over at the port."

She cocked her head and looked confused. "But ... I was sure I'd heard that you had plenty of experience in that sort of thing. Especially in the use of _teska_."

He went white and drew back one hammy fist as though he were about to strike her. Nicholas rose to the balls of his feet behind the angry man. But then Ferias froze, looking past Tremaine. Pasima's voice came from behind her.

"Don't even think of striking my cousin, Ferias! Haven't you done enough harm already?"

"What -- what do you mean, Pasima?" Ferias' eyes were darting back and forth. Tremaine stepped back gingerly. Pasima was at her side, holding a knife in a very competent fashion. Nicanor was behind her, frowning.

"Ferias," said the lawgiver, sternly. "I think we have some questions to ask you. I would like to have another healer take a look at your wife."

"Nicanor ... I realize these are your kinsfolk, but you're supposed to be impartial!"

"I'm only concerned about Nisaia, Ferias. Your choice of healers doesn't seem to be effective. I merely want her to be seen by another experienced physician, like Deresa of Teypria -- ah, here she is."

Ilias had arrived with a stocky little woman whose dark hair was liberally salted with white. Nicanor nodded to her respectfully and gave Ilias a brief smile.

Ferias drew a deep breath, glared at Ilias, and spat. "A physician can't cure what's killing my Nisaia! It's sorcery -- the god has deserted us because you harbor the cursed in our midst!"

Tremaine sputtered. She was almost shaking with rage, dying to do something and knowing that completely losing her temper with this man wouldn't help.

A warm hand ghosted across her back, and when she turned to look, Ilias was watching Ferias with a patient expression that was almost a smile. "The god has _deserted_ us? Since when do you know about these things, Ferias? The god was with us all through the war with the flying whales, and it was there to greet us afterwards. It hasn't gone anywhere. I saw it just last week."

Nicanor nodded approvingly. "We'll see what Deresa has to say after she's examined your wife, Ferias -- and that bottle of stuff that was found in your kitchen."

Ferias' red face turned the color of tallow. He turned as if to run, but Nicholas had been joined by Dannor and Cimmarus. Nicholas stepped back to let the two younger men grab the accused. "The third storehouse is empty, I think, and has a good lock," said Nicanor, and turned to lead the way.

Pasima scowled after them and sheathed her knife with unnecessary force. "That brute! To think he had the nerve to talk about the god like that!"

Tremaine blinked at her. _Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my cousin-in-law Pasima?_ But Pasima was still Pasima: it was just that she had gained a new set of loyalties to go with the old. Maybe she admired Tremaine's impression of a heroine in the little scene with Ferias just now. There was more than one way to make a friend.

She slipped her arm around Ilias' waist. "Forget Ferias, for now," she said. "I think I need a cool drink."

"Me too," said a familiar voice behind her. Tremaine turned to look.

Giliead was standing there, looking hot and dusty and faintly confused. "Want to tell me what just happened?"

* * *

**S** unset was painting the western sky brilliantly as Tremaine and Nicholas joined her husband and his foster brother at one of the many tables set out in the marketplace. Pasima nodded at them from her own seat at a table with her sister Visolela and Nicanor. Closer by were Gyan, Dyani, Karima, Halian, and many more who had stood with Tremaine and the forces of Ile-Rien during the war against the Gardier. The air smelled deliciously of roasting meat and grilled fish and vegetables. Ilias and Giliead already had a small feast laid out on their table.

"How is Nisaia doing?" asked Ilias, as he passed Tremaine a salad of tender pea-shoots with herbs.

"Better," answered Tremaine. "She's talking more clearly. Deresa is letting Kias sit with her -- she says having him there seems to help Nisaia stay conscious." Tremaine still felt a mixture of pride and worry over the fact that the physician had consulted them about Nisaia's treatment. The healer from Teypria didn't have at her disposal the exact chemicals that were recommended in such cases by the doctors of Vienne, but the mineral salts she'd obtained seemed to be having a similar effect. Tremaine was bemused that the reading she'd done as preparation for her own suicide back in her days of despair during the war was going to help save a life.

"What will become of Ferias?" asked Nicholas.

"The council will probably order him sent into exile," said Giliead, calmly. "They want to wait to pass judgment on him until Nisaia is well enough to understand what was happening to her. But even if she forgives him, I don't think the council will."

"He was trying to kill his wife!" exclaimed Nicholas, exasperated.

"He claims he wasn't. He says he just wanted to make her ill enough to decide none of the Andrien were to be trusted, so she would reject Kias, and to notice how well he was taking care of her. He swears that he loves her."

"She was dying. She may never recover completely. A man like that is a danger to the community."

"Nicholas. We don't need that kind of help. This isn't your world, or your city. It's mine -- and the god's. It hasn't shown me anything that makes me think that Ferias should be killed."

There was a little silence. Nicholas made a wry face and sipped his wine. Giliead grinned at him and then sighed.

"I wish I had been here. It's disgusting that people could still believe such nonsense. And the trip west was a fool's errand -- no sorcery at all, just fumes from some volcanic springs near the town making people sick."

Ilias punched him lightly on the shoulder. "We wish you had been here too. As it was, we had to muddle through ourselves. Of course, we had some expert help arrive just in time." He nodded at his father-in-law.

Nicholas raised his eyebrows. "I doubt I would have got very far without the help of your god. A remarkable being. You'll have to thank it for me."

"You can thank it yourself, tomorrow," Giliead told him. "It wants to see you. It knows Arisilde was your friend."

"Really!"

"Yes. Really."

Tremaine chuckled at Nicholas' expression and leaned against Ilias. Giliead reached over and ruffled his foster brother's mop of fair hair. Ilias swatted ineffectively at the taller man's hand, then sat up abruptly as people began thumping their fists and drinking cups against the table. "Ni-ca-nor! Ni-ca-nor!" they chanted.

Giliead glanced over at Tremaine and Nicholas. "The evening star has risen. That means it's time for the lawgiver to make a speech."

Tremaine groaned and put her hands over her ears. Ilias kicked her gently in the ankle and pulled her hands away. "Stop that. He's your lawgiver too, now, and he's also our kinsman. Besides, he usually keeps it pretty short at festivals."

People were helping Nicanor climb onto his table. Tremaine saw Cimarus and Cletia among those lending a hand. The lawgiver of Cineth stood silhouetted against the darkening sky and raised both of his hands, then bowed to the crowd and in the general direction of the god's cave.

"My friends, my kinsfolk, people of Cineth. I greet you all in peace, and in joy for being with me here today at this happy time. Only a year ago, it seemed doubtful that we would ever be able to celebrate a festival so fully again. Yet the dark times have faded, and brighter days have taken their place. And we are here to see them together.

"What sustained us through those dark months? Many things: courage and loyalty, of course. Endurance, and steadfastness. Belief in our god. Generosity, Open-mindedness, And most of all, I think, love, and kindness, and friendship. These things gave us light in the darkness we had to traverse, and kept us going.

"Let us always remember this, when pettiness, prejudice, and poverty of spirit threaten to divide us. It is friendship and its sister-virtues that will lend light to our spirits and bring us together again in joy at festivals to come."

The crowd cheered, and Nicanor was helped down as a little band of flutes and drums and lyres struck up a merry tune. Tables in the center were cleared away to make room for dancers. Nicholas raised his cup gravely.

"Even I can drink to that," he said.

* * *

**I** n a tree on a hill overlooking the marketplace of Cineth, a cloud of blue sparks twinkled as though answering the yellow-red flare of torches below. The god of Cineth felt a wistful impulse to go down among the merrymakers, but it knew from long experience that being among such a crowd of minds, with their limited perceptions, was dissatisfying to the point of pain. So it stayed where it was, attracting a small outer cloud of moths, and the bats and night birds that fed on them.

Tomorrow its Chosen would bring its friend's friend to see it. It could wait. It had all the time in the world.

   
Please [post a comment](http://yuletidetreasure.org/cgi-bin/comment.cgi?filename=72/alight&filetype=html&title=A%20Light%20in%20the%20Darkness) on this story.

Read [posted comments](http://yuletidetreasure.org/archive/72/alight_cmt.html).  



End file.
